The atmosphere before the gates of Prisma turned suffocatingly tense, the rising wind whipping harshly against the faces of the assembled cultivators.

Standing at the vanguard of the dark host, the reanimated figures of two of the Three Legends radiated a chilling, murderous malice and heavy dark magic. It was a horrifying testament to the Demon Lord's dark art—reconstructing the physical vessels of the dead, exactly as chronicled in ancient texts.

Through the absolute dark parameters of the Blood Supreme, Shura could restore life to the fallen, provided a physical fragment of their vessel remained. The dark truth was now laid bare: the Three Legends had indeed been defeated twenty years ago, and two of their number had been brought back as thralls bound to the Demon Lord's mandate.

"Bwahaha!"

Lord Demon Shura’s laughter echoed through the sky, dripping with sadistic amusement. "A magnificent gift for you all, is it not, righteous warriors? If you throw down your weapons and surrender now, I, Shura, shall grant you mercy and allow you to live as my protected thralls!"

A heavy silence hung over the battlefield, broken only by Shura's booming voice. The orthodox host stood frozen, waiting to see how far the Demon Lord would push his psychological assault in his bid to subjugate the five continents.

"Should you refuse..." Shura continued, his tone dropping into a cold, lethal register, "...then there remains only one appropriate alternative. I shall slaughter every last one of you, harvest your remains, and reanimate your corpses alongside your precious heroes! You shall serve me for eternity as mindless, soulless puppets! Hahaha!"

The taunt pushed Aji to the absolute edge of his restraint. His internal aura flared violently, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to leap into the sky and strike the tyrant down. Yet he knew that acting recklessly would destroy the alliance's tactical coordination. Aji, who was usually the picture of absolute calm, forced himself to suppress his fury.

Still, his expression shifted into a cold, terrifying mask. The sight of the two legendary saints being paraded as dark puppets—paired with Shura's arrogant treatment of human life as mere cattle—ignited a deep, blazing anger within his core.

From her position at the center of the formation, Gayatri picked up the sudden shift in Aji's energetic frequency. She recognized the profound wrath surging beneath his quiet exterior; his aura was dangerously close to detonating, yet he maintained absolute control over its output.

In that moment, Gayatri perceived the true depth of Aji's motivation: a deep, unyielding vendetta against the Demon Lord. His sole purpose on this battlefield was the total eradication of Shura.

"I shall grant you a brief window to deliberate and reach a consensus," Shura declared, holding up five fingers. "Five minutes! Not a second more! Your decision in these five minutes will determine whether you live as my thralls or perish in the dirt!"

The declaration hit the alliance like a physical weight, suffocating aura washing over the front lines. The tyrant who had terrorized the five continents for decades was now demanding absolute surrender or total annihilation.

Five minutes. Only five minutes.

Commander Dasatama remained rooted to the spot before the gates of Prisma, his broadsword planted firmly into the earth. He offered no response to Shura's ultimatum, his expression unyielding and entirely unbothered by the five-minute timer. His resolve had been forged long ago; there was nothing left to debate.

The two hundred thousand defenders—garrison troops, academy grandmasters, and the Sky Squad—followed their commander's lead. Seeing Dasatama stand unmoving without making a single gesture toward a council, every warrior understood that the choice had already been made. They would fight to the end.

Even with two of the Three Legends standing among the dark ranks, the defenders recognized the truth: those entities were no longer Saint Ganada and Saint Yonan. They were empty husks, reanimated by dark magic and stripped of their noble souls.

Though the legendary parameters of the two saints inspired genuine dread among the ranks, the orthodox host knew that surrender was a false hope. Submitting to the Demon Lord would only lead to execution without a fight.

It was far better to fall standing, dying as heroes whose sacrifices would inspire future generations, than to live as cowardly thralls beneath the dark army's boots—only to be slaughtered or used as playthings in the end.

No one moved. As the five minutes ticked away, not a single cultivator engaged in conversation or broke rank. Every warrior stood at absolute readiness, anchored in their combat stances.

The eight remaining Annihilation Demons took their places at the head of their respective legions, flanked by their elite sub-commanders. The two reanimated saints stood at the very front of the dark formation—deployed as psychological weapons designed to shatter the defenders' morale before blades even crossed.

Shura watched the silent host with a cold, mocking smile. Before the five minutes had even elapsed, he recognized that the martial alliance had formed an unshakeable, unified front. He had issued the ultimatum to test their resolve, hoping to see panic fracture their ranks. Yet they stood unaffected by his threats.

When words failed to inspire terror, absolute destruction was the next logical step. The dark army relied on overwhelming force to break an enemy's spirit, knowing that once mortals recognized the vast gap in strength, despair would consume them.

In Shura's doctrine, the strong dictated the fate of the weak, free to slaughter or mutilate those who submitted. Might was the absolute law of existence, and the weak were born to be subjugated.

That was the core philosophy shared by the Annihilation Demons, who systematically deployed fear to dismantle their enemies.

The dark command had calculated three distinct layers of psychological terror for this campaign:

1. Numerical Superiority: The dark army outnumbered the defenders by nearly ten to one, creating an immediate, crushing visual pressure.

2. The Ultimatum: The demand for absolute surrender, backed by the suffocating weight of Shura's personal aura.

3. The Vanguard Shock: Deploying the reanimated vessels of Saint Ganada and Saint Yonan—the holy guardians of the righteous sects—at the front lines, forcing the defenders to fight the very heroes they revered.

The strategy was designed to plunge the alliance into total chaos from the opening seconds of the clash.

Time ticked away, the five minutes feeling agonizingly slow to the dark operatives. Yet Shura savored every second. He watched the defenders strain against the psychological pressure, knowing that as the seconds bled away, anticipation would turn into agonizing dread.

He expected them to buckle under the silent weight of the ticking clock, losing their composure before the charge even began. To Shura, manipulating an enemy's weakness was a exquisite pleasure.

"Stop your rambling, Lord Demon!"

A sharp, clear voice cut through the heavy silence, echoing across the open plain.

Every head snapped toward the source. Shura and his warlords had assumed the defenders were frozen in fear, yet the bold interruption belonged to a young female warrior.

It was Gayatri!

Borne aloft by a swirling column of wind mana, Gayatri ascended into the sky from the central division led by Dasatama. She hovered in mid-air, rising to eye level with Lord Demon Shura. She displayed absolute confidence, a brilliant, blinding aura erupting around her frame.

Preparing her technique, Gayatri condensed high-density light mana into dozens of spectral lances that hovered behind her back in a radiant, sun-like wheel. The dazzling light illuminated the darkened sky, casting a brilliant glare over the battlefield.

The orthodox defenders gasped in awe as the young Sky Squad member fearlessly broke the suffocating silence imposed by the Demon Lord. Just as subtle dread was beginning to creep into the ranks, her brilliant display shattered the heavy aura, standing as a beacon of defiance against the tyrant.

In the command ranks, Elder Silvi watched Gayatri with a proud, knowing smile. Ever since Gayatri had passed the Sky Squad trials, Silvi had recognized her boundless latent potential.

Now, Gayatri's parameters had reached an extraordinary realm. During her graduation duel years ago, Gayatri had matched Silvi's full output. Today, her parameters clearly surpassed those of the elder advisor. While Silvi herself had felt a subtle tremor facing Shura's crushing aura, Gayatri had stepped forward without a shred of hesitation, defying the dark sovereign head-on.

Every eye on the field remained fixed on Gayatri as she hovered in the sky. Extending her arms, her ethereal beauty was matched only by the dazzling wheel of light lances glowing behind her.

Shura glared at the young spellcaster, surprised by her audacity. He recognized her as a core member of the Sky Squad—the specialized vanguard that had systematically dismantled his operations across the continents. A flicker of genuine irritation crossed his face, though he attempted to maintain his serene facade.

His absolute aura—a suffocating domain that had terrified mortal grandmasters for decades—had just been casually dismissed by a young girl.

"Insolent brat!" Shura boomed, his voice reverberating like thunder as he amplified his internal aura to crush her spirit. "I shall remember your face! You will serve as a painful lesson to any who dare interrupt their sovereign!"

"Enough of your foolish belling, Shura!" Gayatri retorted, her voice carrying across both armies. "You are nothing more than a pathetic tyrant consumed by endless greed! You style yourself a king, yet you act like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because he was denied a sweet!"

Gasps echoed across the battlefield. Gayatri's scathing insult struck Shura like a physical blow, threatening to shatter his composure. A deep, violent rage flushed his face crimson, his hands trembling as volatile dark magic flared around his gauntlets.

High above the plain, Gayatri offered a cold, satisfied smile. She had successfully provoked the Demon Lord's anger—executing the exact strategic distraction Aji had asked her to perform.